Christiern

I signed quite a few for fans in Ghana, where The Benny Goodman Story had just had a run.

They just broke into People's Court to announce that actor Heath Ledger (Brokeback Mountain)has been found dead in his Soho (NYC) apartment.

We are no longer speaking and I don't know if it's that pedestrian piano playing or the dirty trick he pulled on Bessie. Want Benny Goodman's autograph? If so, how many?

He, with help from the late Leslie Gourse, brought it down so that others might lift it up without too much strain.

All very well and good, but the customers most affected by the closing of these Harlem stores are not going to e-bay for anything. The closing of the Harlem stores raises a very different issue--it's not at all about a search for vinyl, or dearth of same, it's about avarice and financially-based discrimination in which the race factor cannot be ruled out. Forget about the merchandise, that's not what matters here. This thread is about the death of a neighborhood, a culture, a rich past. You can get your damn vinyl in any place as long as you have the money, but no amount of money will buy you back the heart of Harlem, a culture that has had impact way beyond its streets, a culture that created the very sounds on your vinyl. Blue Note would not have existed without the culture that Harlem represented. I realize that times change and that we have to move with them, but there are ways of doing that without trampling on people's lives.

I knew that about Lowe (although Yusef Lateef told me otherwise). but I only had Yanow's word for his own brilliance. Apropos Yanow, have you noticed how his little bios seem to be on every other site? I know he's pushy, but what's up with that?

Fear of wear on the master tapes is really an artificial issue if the playback is handled correctly, which it probably is.

Sorry, I hadn't read that part, but I can't suddenly believe what Yanow writes, can I? Al, I believe I did uplift that field, but I quickly let go when all those bugs started coming at me.

Huh?

I know these stores very well, they are both within walking distance of my apartment and this has been an ongoing battle. Harlem has in many ways changed for the better, but with that change comes the loss of character and--for far too man Harlem residents--the loss of a home or business. Frederick Douglass Boulevard is, basically, the street on which I live, it just changes names at 110th Street. In my 45 years at this address, I have seen the neighborhood go from good to bad to good. I had to stop walking to and from 125th Street when Nicky Barnes' drug empire reigned and a large segment of the population was nodding and doing anything they could to feed their habit. Now, that stretch of blocks is no longer boarded up, there are little restaurants with pretentious names, bank branches, and real estate offices. Buildings are being totally renovated or replaced with condos, and the faces are getting whiter by the week. I guess one can't have everything and restoring Harlem to what it was before the influx of drugs and real estate developers simple could not have happened. So, it is better to be infested with bankers and real estate people than with drug dealers, but Harlem's rich culture, the magic that attracted extraordinary people and generated immeasurable creative energy is--in this latest morph--becoming as bland as a hospital waiting room. To many lives, the gentrification is as upsetting as Katrina. To be sure, it is a slower, more subtle intrusion, but the end result is the same: a callous, greed-driven attack on cultural values. When Duke Ellington first arrived in Harlem, he is said to have exclaimed, "It's just like Arabian nights." To me, as a jazz-bitten young European, Harlem was equally magic, a place one hoped one day to visit. When I finally got off that A train, in 1957, there was enough of the creative energy left for me to feel it, absorb and become inspired. It is difficult to describe, it was just something in the air, something in the people that gave one different and--I think--healthier outlook on life. I didn't have any money, but that somehow didn't matter. I used to walk up to a small hole-in-the-wall restaurant on 116th Street where the sisters of some religious sect gave you a fantastic meal and a glass of lemonade for a couple of bucks, but with that male they also served humor and warmth. It made not a bit of difference that I looked different, they knew that my pockets were as empty as theirs. We hear so much about racism on both sides, and it surely has always existed, but I perceived that financial status was often the real divider. I used to hear white people joke about black people living in shacks and driving a Cadillac. The racism in such remarks was not subtle and it was difficult for me to convince people that this incongruity had nothing to do with ancestral background, that in Denmark (where I worked for a chain of music stores) I had often seen poor families purchase (on the installment plan) the most expensive of audio consoles, rosewood conversation pieces to be placed among furniture that was but a step away from a milk crate. It is human nature to wish for one possession that flies in the face of one's lowly stature in society. Getting back to Harlem in this far too long narrative, the current metamorphosis is a mixed blessing. I think of the people who are uprooted by it--where do they go? How does it feel to be forced to leave a lifetime of memories. We find it odd to hear that some people in Iraq wish for the return of Hussein and the misery he brought, but there are degrees of suffering and so we sometimes find ourselves opting for the lesser pain. I know some Harlem residents who now see unfortunate past circumstances in a more favorable light, but are forced to move on and make room for the haves. That's life, I guess, but it can suck.

Nobody picked up that my instrument is liner notes and my most representative album is "Ikala"--Ikala? Allen, you also play liner notes, don't you? We should hook up with Ira, Dan, et al, and jam! Found the album!

Oh, of course, Jim--I somehow knew it wasn't one of the Banner dates he did for the Scranton Button Factory.

Goodwill? That's where I picked up the Blakey cylinder. Along with Albert Ayler's great "Dance Time" album.

I was looking for a photgraph by Ralston Crawford when I stumbled upon my name, clicked on it, and discovered that not only am I a lot older than I thought, but I am also losing my memory of people I worked with... Of course the memory loss could be due to me having worked since about age 6! Who are/were Allen Weinberg and Jonathan Wyner? When did I work with Clarence Williams, Fletcher Henderson and Bessie Smith? George Horn?

Those photos remind me of what my apartment used to look like before I sold 18,000 LPs. I still have a couple of thousand 45s, but they are neatly stored out of sight.

We all have those days, weeks--even months.

I'm still waiting for the ultimate transfers:

Having a tough day?

If history is the DVD's theme, your list, UBU, is far too limited, a Marsalis in reverse approach It comes down to one's definition of "European jazz." Are we talking about European jazz forms or any jazz played by Europeans? Chris would fit into the latter concept, Garbarek into the former (your categorization notwithstanding). Actually, garthsj's heading is as misleading as the DVD's title--its subtitle is, "The story of jazz in Europe," which leaves it wide open as to who is qualified for inclusion. Sounds like this might be nothing more than a collection of jazz performances on European soil. Armstrong? Miles? The stretch is obvious.

Interesting piece. Sad how the deterioration of audio reproduction is going hand in hand with the dilution of the music. After years of giving loudness priority over artistry (remember the anything-you-can-sing-I-can-sing-higher "Star Search" contests?) the boom box generation's ear drums seem to have been seriously damaged. Oh, what the hell, the whole music industry has decayed at the hands of corporate lawyers and tin-eared CPAs.

He was a fine actor who leaves much behind for future generations to appreciate.

Believe me, he was that bad--no......worse!

Thanks Allen. Did you ever read Paul Oliver's assessment of "Shave 'Em Dry"? As I recall, it was a song reflecting the suppressed sexuality of a downtrodden people, or something like that! Where would we be without these perceptive historians?

As I recall, "My Old Flame" was done as if sung by Peter Lorre. I liked it back then. The band was quite jazz savvy, just listen to sides like "Cocktails for Two." Like the Firehouse Five gone over the edge. As a kid, I remember that his spoofs on Hitler were popular in school.

Looks like this thread is having a normal day--lotsa access!